It’s happened to us all. Life is good, everything’s on track, and suddenly, it all crumbles. Maybe someone isn’t feeling it, or feeling up someone else, or perhaps you make each other complete and utter psychopaths and you simply need to get as far away from one another as possible.
Love is such a beautiful thing.
And also terrifying and confusing and excruciatingly painful. But that’s where we come in. For every all-night scream match you’ve had over dirty dishes, there are five mimosas ready to go for you somewhere else. For every time you just want to give up, there’s a beautiful plate of smoking hot BBQ ready to cure your soul. Here’s where you need to be when sh*t hits the fan.
Perhaps surprising him four times last week at work was a touch too clingy. Live and learn and go eat an entire deep dish pizza by yourself. LA has a solid crop of Chicago-style deep dish, but when it’s just you tonight, make moves to Hollywood Pies. The glorified pick-up window along Pico has fantastic pizzas across the board and efficient service to get you in and out and back in your car eating a meat lover’s pie under a highway overpass.
You just spent your entire tax return on two round-tip tickets to Tokyo this summer, and suddenly, here comes the “It’s Over” email. These are dark times and dark times call for some serious ribs. Hop in your shtty Honda Civic and haul ass out to Panorama City. Located in what is best described as fcking deep into The Valley, Dr. Hogly Wogly’s isn’t the easiest place to get to, but this nearly 50-year-old BBQ staple is worth it. Three ribs for about $15 might seem a little steep, but once you see the ribs are about the size of your forearms, you won’t be complaining.
You just spent five months of your life with a man who had a stronger relationship with several ESPN sportscasters than you. Time to treat yourself right. Koreatown has no shortage of spas, but the undisputed king is Wi Spa. This five-story metropolis is an LA institution and the kind of place where 40 minutes becomes four hours in the blink of an eye. Sign up for private acupuncture or roll around in hot clay balls with strangers in matching uniforms. It’s a weird world at Wi Spa, and one your soul needs badly.
It’s your three-month anniversary, you dropped $70 on flowers, and she just told you at dinner the relationship's over because your auras aren't aligned. You’re not even sure what that means, but you do know it’s time for some weird ass puppets. Bob Baker Marionette Theater is one of the rare LA experiences where you truly feel like you’ve left your body. The 55-year-old theater in DTLA has puppet shows four times a week and they are magical, thrilling, terrifying, and the exact brand of escapism you need after a situation like that.
She just wasn’t that into you dude. And by that we mean, she was just a little bit more into that triathlon guy she hooked up with at a Zac Brown Band concert last summer. That was technically before she met you, but let’s just say their Snapchat remains active. Oh well, it was only four months out of your life. You’ll get back on the horse soon enough, and there isn’t a better stable in town than the one at Q’s Brentwood. Grab a couple of your nearest bro-buds, turn your hat backwards, and use your trivia skills to impress that UCLA ’15 grad who’s just dying to tell you about her on-camera acting class today.
ENOUGH OF THE LIES TRAVIS. We all knew you were on Hinge because you were talking to Amy and that’s how a mutual friends feature f*cking works. Jesus. So, things obviously didn’t end well with Travis, but you just open-throated three tequilas on the rocks over at Davey Wayne’s and now you need saving. Head to Canter’s. Nothing’s better at 3am than passing out on top of their delicious hot pastrami sandwich and then crying to your Uber driver about how you forgot your to-go box on the table.
Whatever. He was a complete asshole and you deserve to be 25 and single anyway. Grab the girls, let’s get rowdy. And tonight’s about you and no one else. SADDLE RANCH TIME. Go get yourself the best 3,000 calorie BBQ Chicken Chop Salad in town, make out with a guy from Tucson with a Warped Tour tattoo, and ride that mechanical bull like your goddamn life depends on it. Because tonight, maybe it just does. Fck the h8ers.
Well, that didn’t end well. You told her you needed someone who can “keep up” and she promptly posted $2,000 worth of your niche porn site subscription receipts on your mom’s Facebook wall. Touché, Meredith. But hey, at least it appears you make a lot of money. So put on a suit and head to Petit Trois because you’re probably a horrible person and at a restaurant with three square feet of functional space, you won’t look stupid when no one wants to dine with you.
OK, be honest with yourself. You weren’t ready for a serious relationship and he was leaving print-outs of Tarzana real estate listings on your windshield. Sometimes you’re just on separate paths. And while his path was straight to the dog rescue, you’re grabbing the crew and getting your ass to Tokyo Delves. The weight has been lifted, and the only way to celebrate is with restaurant-wide sake bombs and teaming up with your waiter for a Rihanna lip-sync battle. Welcome to Mars.
So you got drunk off a couple of Bud Light Limes and asked if she would consider an open relationship. Her stuff was out by the morning, and now you’re starving. The good news is Hot N’ Juicy Crawfish opens at 11:30am and you’ve got a hankering to slurp the insides of the best crustacean being served on the ground floor of a Target in the city. So pick a seasoning, a spice level, and enjoy your seafood bag of sadness with all the other guys that got dumped in LA that morning.
Code Red: Some late-night Indian food and one bad dream later, you’re waking up to a horrific accident between the sheets, and now nothing will ever be the same. Love is a journey. And while Katie was probably never going to be your wife, you need a serious pick-me-up after that. And nothing says “road to recovery” like eating with your bare hands and cheering to pre-determined stage combat in Anaheim. #BrownKnight4lyfe.
He’s gay. You were watching House Hunters: International in bed last night and now he’s gay. Gut check. You’re obviously happy for him, but also pretty humiliated and frustrated because he owns all the best furniture in the apartment. Time for mimosas. A lot of them. Simmzy’s in Manhattan Beach is full of the bubbly stuff and also guys looking for girls who drink them. You didn’t realize swaying back and forth in line for the bathroom would garner you three separate phone numbers, but it does here.
Let freedom ring. Your incessant head games finally took their toll and last night Eric bounced. You’ll realize in two weeks you’re an idiot, arguably a sociopath, and that he was perfect for you. But for now, you’ve got nothing to do and a fresh Segway Groupon you bought during the haze of last night’s Skinny Girl sugar rush. So grab those orange crocs, leave your bra at home, and let god’s transportation drive you back to crazy town.
This one hurts. Three years of your life given to that girl and BOOM - it just wasn’t in the cards. And after a long night of fighting and a lot of “it’s not you, it’s me” later, you’re trying to decide what to do with that Spago anniversary reservation. You REALLY wanted to go to Spago. And so you do. You still order for two, get what Elizabeth probably would’ve ordered, and sit gazing at the tattered picture stashed in your coat pocket all these years. The last photo taken before both dying on the Titanic.